I have told many people that, despite it not being in our best interests logistically speaking, J and I almost always Drink a cup of coffee in bed before starting our day. Before telling our children to get ready for school, before taking a shower. Sometimes we read, sometimes we look at our schedules, sometimes we talk. Often I try to do some grand or small-scale planning with him (who is going to take Gabe to soccer or maybe we should redo our living room!) and this almost never goes well because J does not like to be assaulted by my wandering mind in the early Morning hours, when he is super into some new non-fiction book, or sometimes, let's be honest, looking at videos of people cleaning really dirty rugs on a Facebook video stream made for people who don’t know how to access TikTok. That is how old we are right now. That is how we consume media. 

I tend to talk out whatever is going through my mind. He claims he does not do this, but I am here to tell you that once the full cup of coffee has landed, he does, in fact, partake in this form of impromptu chatter, although it's a slightly different brand than mine. I'll be rushing in and out of the bathroom trying to get ready for work or ensure Aidy's prepared to make the walk to school, and he's all of a sudden telling me about a new idea he's got for the air filter in our bedroom, or how he's going to paint the walls in the unfinished part of our basement, and he's got a LOT to say about these topics which are, admittedly, not my priorities (painting the unfinished part of the basement, where the mice live?). I have to work very hard to project interest, especially considering the timing of these proclamations, these mini Ted talks ("I have a theory about the air quality of our room.") 

So, to be clear, we both engage in this poorly timed loquaciousness and, at least on my end, I do find it charming in that maddening way that is the very essence of marriage. Anyway, whether we are talking at or to each other - which happens as well, when we vibe on some shared passion… decluttering...whether life is awesome (it is) - the point is that this morning coffee is an institution in our relationship, even now, when we have no business doing it as we have three children headed to three different schools at completely different start times, and should be downstairs manning the family ship. I joke with people that having coffee together each morning is one of the main reasons we are a happy couple, which always feels like a reach, but I don't know! It is an anchor in my life. It's something I look forward to every single day. It is when we are most optimistic and least plugged into the endless mania of daily family life, for better, or for worse. 

And now that you have that background, I think you will understand why it was so upsetting to me recently when we went through some changes related to this long standing routine. We tried mixing up the unmixable and experimenting with our coffee in ways that were distressing. 

[Side note: my parents, who also had a very regular morning coffee routine, always drank it black and did not deviate in the slightest, until one time, during his retirement when, I suppose, he had more hours in the day to think up schemes, my father suggested putting cinnamon or other spices in with the coffee grounds to make it more "sexy." My mother, a pragmatist and early crusader against flavored coffee of any sort, was immediately, intensely against this idea, declaring "no" and "horrible" in response to his suggestion. And that was the end of that. I reminded her of this recently. We laughed and she said, "He LOVED spices."] 

J and I had, for years, had our coffee with a small amount of half and half. I don't know when this habit began for me, but I can’t remember a time when I didn't do it. My high school coffee attempts involved both milk or cream and sugar (plenty) and in college I was eager to try all manner of espresso drinks. But at some point in newly-established adulthood I settled. Coffee, with cream (just a little) and every single morning. When J and I got together he started drinking coffee regularly, too. We made it at home. Our joint (coffee) history began, and prospered. 

I talk about coffee a fair amount but want to emphasize that I don't drink it all day. The morning cup is the most important. Sometimes I drink another half or full cup. Sometimes I have an afternoon coffee or espresso. But nothing compares to the first. Which is another reason it's important. 

There have been a few instances where we have run out of half and half and opted for black coffee, which is fine with me, if not my ultimate preference. Sometimes when this would happen, we’d declare that we "drink our coffee black now!" although it hasn't ever stuck for longer than a couple of days, when I'm able to make it to the grocery store to pick up the goods. 

That is, until recently. 

J decided that his morning cup of coffee with half and half wasn't serving him any longer. That maybe that dose of dairy wasn't the best way for him to start his day. It wasn’t a frivolous decision. Not having the half and half actually did make him feel better. So, in solidarity, I stopped too. I stopped buying it altogether. We made the black coffee declaration. 

I thought I was happy with this decision, and it went on for one week, then another. But on some deep level, one I wasn't willing to explore right away, I wasn’t happy about this decision. Everything had changed. The enthusiasm that surrounded this morning ritual - almost as important as the thing itself - was half-hearted. 

But I didn’t despair. The situation reminded me of when my friend Max proclaimed - years back, in a different stage of my life - that I was in a "transitional period." I liked that phrase. It diminished the gravity of the situation. It's fine. It's just a Transitional Period.  

And a week or two ago, J and I admitted to one another that neither of us was truly embracing this new chapter of our lives together. "I'm not sold on the black coffee, if I'm being honest," J told me one morning, holding his ceramic mug, and I chimed in almost before he'd finished, "ME NEITHER."  We were in it together, rejoicing in the comfortable territory of our joint morning enthusiasm. 

I decided we'd try a coconut/almond creamer, which J immediately declared a good substitute and I, following in my mother's footsteps, immediately declared horrible. I have returned to my small amount of half and half, my easily accessible joy. Our ritual is altered, but familiar. We are still getting out of bed too late, but when we do, we are very excited about the air filter, etcetera.